December’s here, and it’s cold and miserable and nobody at Best For Film Towers can breathe without choking on phlegm. We’re not loving winter so far. Fortunately, Ella’s managed to smuggle a bit of good cheer into this ghastly gloomy afternoon – here’s how to get some of your own.
Best of the Year is back, and this time we’re looking back almost a decade (Christ, can you believe Mean Girls is nine years old?) to the bright comedy lights of 2004, a golden age for charmingly stupid films with Ben Stiller in. Although we haven’t included Meet the Fockers, because it’s awful.
No, that’s the actual title.
With Slade, Wizzard, and bloody Bob Geldof dominating the office playlist, and the rivers of mulled wine flowing at previously unprecedented levels, at Best For Film Christmas is definitely upon us. Every family has their own take on the Christmas traditions. Charades or the Queen’s Speech? Presents before or after lunch? Turkey and sprouts at lunchtime or at dinner? But one tradition that we know remains the same in all households is the Christmas film. In honour of this cinematic contribution to the festival of merriment, we have for your delectation: The Christmas Film Drinking Game. ‘Tis the season to be jolly well drunk.
Best For Film’s Favourite Flicks returns, and this week it’s safely in the hands of bona fide writer – seriously, she did a radio play and everything – Florence Vincent. What are you going to go for, Flo? Which bastion of classic cinema reigns supreme within your heart? Citizen Kane? Vertigo? What’s that – something more recent? How about Taxi Driver? Sátántangó? Requiem for a Dream? Oh, it’s a not-quite-nineties teen film with the Thong Song guy in it. Obviously.
Remember when Top 10 lists weren’t depressing, but uplifting? They reminded you about which beach bodies were buffest, and who was the richest, and which holiday destinations were best. This list isn’t like that. This is a sad list. Now, this sad list has parameters because we aren’t talking about merely becoming older, for that is unaccountably ageist, and we at Best For Film love those close-to-death, crotchety, ‘back in my day’ old timers. We aren’t here to make fun of those rushing headlong into the endless sleep. No, no dear friends, we are here to make fun of those actors and actresses that have become freaks of nature. Welcome to our sad list guys. You won’t thank us.
Film journalists often run through a certain number of preparations before the release of a new film. For any new Michael Bay movie the Caps Lock will be checked and re-checked; before every Katherine Heigl feature critics will hurry out to bathe in acid; and for Christopher Nolan they will bend over and spread their cheeks accordingly. Not so for poor Amanda Seyfried, whose new film Gone opens this week to deafening silence. Probably because there’s not that much to say. Well, except this.